


Boys Like Boys

by asaprockme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Best Friends, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asaprockme/pseuds/asaprockme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys like boys like girls do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Like Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the video for Girls Like Girls by Haley Kiyoko. If you haven't seen this video yet, you definitely should. I think it sends a pretty nice message. Anyway, the whole time I was watching it, I couldn't help picture Harry and Niall, so I decided to do something about it. Sorry for any mistakes. I hope you guys enjoy :)

I look into his eyes and I think, " _God, he's so beautiful_ ,"―he's so fucking beautiful. And he stares back at me, his green eyes dilated with what looks like lust and desire and want, but I can never tell; I can't ever be sure. He stares at me as if he never wants to turn away, his face soft and his eyes warm and bright. He looks like the summer air around us, like the trees what rustle in the wind, like the golden sun that soaks into our skin, painting us in a layer of bronze and delight. He's like the fluffy clouds that roam above our heads―so gentle, so calm, so peaceful. But there's a storm inside him that I can feel, too, like rage and red, but good and pure like the love in our hearts.

 _He's beautiful_ , I think to myself. _I think that I'm in love._

***

My face is bruised and bloody―purple at the corner of my eye, my lips tainted with the blood that inks my skin. It tastes like salt and rust, dirty and gross, but I can't care. I don't care. And my face is tattered and messed up, but I feel good. I feel like the sun is shining right through my pores, like there's a party in the pit of my stomach that goes on and on and on. My feet are planted on the pedals of my yellow bike, it's old and the paint is chipping off the sides, but it's still a beauty in my eyes.

I cruise down the street, the wind blowing through my blond hair. And I ride―my face looks beat and I'm sure I'd attract some questioning stares, but there's a smile that ghosts my face, a genuine smile, and I don't even care. I don't care how I may look, don't care if it'll hurt by this time tomorrow; I feel great, wonderful―I feel so  _alive_. I feel like I can fly, like I can spread my non-existent wings and soar through the clear blue skies. I feel light like a feather, and I feel like I'm invincible, like I can do anything. And by now, I think I can. I'm sure I can.

And I can still feel his lips pushing up against mine, can still taste his tongue, can feel his fingertips pressing themselves into my skin. I miss his lips already, have always wondered how they'd feel. I guess I don't have to wonder anymore now. I do wonder, though, when we'll be able to do it again.

My spirits are still high as I turn into my driveway when I finally make it home. I hop off of my bike, letting it fall to the ground below me. I know that my mother hates when I do that, leave my bike out in the open like this, but I can't bring myself to care. I don't think I'll mind her chastising me this time.

That same smile is still on my lips when I dig my key out of my front pocket and unlock the door. My dog, Lucky, runs up to me immediately, her tongue hanging right out, her tail wagging happily, but I brush her off and head straight to my room. I'm buzzing inside, like a bee in the middle of spring―I feel so electric. And as I jog up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, my mom calls out my name. She asks me where I've been, how my day was, but I just yell out a, " _great_!" and I go to lock myself in my bedroom. I'm sure she won't mind.

I fall backwards against my bed, spreading my limbs out like a starfish, and I let out a content sigh. I'm so happy. I'm so happy that I feel like I could cry. But I don't. I don't cry. I smile up at the ceiling above and I play the image of us kissing in my head over and over until I remember every curve on his lips, every dip, every crevice of his mouth by heart.

I think this is a memory that won't ever fade away. I'll keep it safe with me forever.

***

I ditch my bike in the front yard like I always do when I'm around here. I start to feel those little butterflies fluttering around in my stomach while I march over towards the front door. He makes me feel this way whenever I'm near him―wavy and jiggly like a cup full of bouncy jell-o. My palms sweat at the thought of seeing him again, but I force myself to get rid of those thoughts and keep calm. I take in a much needed deep breath to ease the jumping inside of me, and I raise my arm to knock on his front door three times.

He's quick to answer, almost as if he were waiting for me to arrive this whole time. I really hope so. I love spending time with him―I hope he's just as excited to see me as I am him. I'm sure his excitement couldn't amount to mine, though. It's just that grand.

Before I know it, I'm stood before him, his green eyes shining and happy and making me melt from the inside out when he pulls me in for a hug. His arms wrap right around me like we're a perfect fit, and I do the same to him. His chin finds itself wedged in between my neck and shoulder and I breathe him in―he smells so fresh like nature and clean air, but he's fragrant like mints and warm, golden honey; sweet. He squeezes me tightly, swaying us from side to side, and I can't tell if it's because he's a very affectionate person, or if he's just doing this because it's me. I try not to overthink it, just smile to myself and enjoy the feel of him tangled around me. It's nice; I don't know how I'd survive without it.

"Niall," he says happily, like his words have feelings and they're smiling with him. He's got such a beautiful smile. He glows.

"Hey, Harry," I greet my best friend as we pull apart.

The moment we share is quickly interrupted when I notice Harry's girlfriend, Steph, entering the area we stand in. My face falls a bit and my heart drops to the bottom of the floor when she pulls me in for a hug as well, but it just doesn't feel the same. She's not as warm and welcome as Harry is; she's stiff and she feels a bit cold and she smells like those horrible perfume samples they spray on you in department stores. She doesn't compare to Harry.

"Hey, Ni," she says, and it really aggravates me how she calls me that. It doesn't sound right, only sounds good coming from Harry. I can't tell if I've always hated her voice because it's too pitchy and high, or simply because she gets to be with Harry and I don't. Either way, it makes me cringe. But I smile at her anyway, try not to look too down. I never want to come off as rude.

"Hi," I mumble back. Thankfully, she lets me go, then, and Harry is swooping his arms around my shoulders, making my grin come back when he sends me that same warm look I'll never get over. I wrap am arm around his waist, my fingers curling into his hips―his dimples make an appearance, then. I want to poke them with my fingers, maybe kiss them until his cheeks turn all rosy and red, but I know I can't.

He leads me into the kitchen, Steph trailing behind us, letting me go once we're stood in between the aisle. I watch Harry as he hops up to sit on the countertop, watch him give me a goofy look, his mouth twisted into a curvy smile that makes him look stupid but he's still the most beautiful person I've ever seen. His eyes sparkle as they watch me, and Harry pats the space next to him on the counter with a large hand, the silver rings that are slipped into his fingers clanking against the smooth, shiny marble top.

I don't hesitate to pull myself up to sit by him because I'd do anything if he asked me to. Harry's legs dangle off the sides and he looks gentle and innocent like a young child in comparison to his broad shoulders and the tattoos that cover his bulky arm. I picture my fingers tracing over the dark ink, lightly tickling his skin, but that's all I can do―picture it.

I shake my head to rid my fantasies, looking over to the side to see Stephanie munching on a bag of gummy worms. Harry nudges me then, his hand poking into my thigh to catch my attention. The contact makes my skin feel warm, gets the butterflies going out of control in my stomach once again. Some things never change.

"Want some?" He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I'm not entirely sure why he's so bubbly, his cheeks high on his face as he smiles and it looks like it hurts, but I know he's happy. He holds a bag of gummy worms towards me, just like the ones Steph had, too, and I nod my head, going to reach for some. Harry shakes his head then, stuffing his hand into the plastic bag until he's got one of the candy worms in between his fingers. I don't know what he's up to, exactly.

He stretches his arm out until the piece of candy he holds brushes against my mouth, and I realize what he's doing then, so I part my lips to let him slip the candy into my mouth. I giggle when he giggles, my cheeks flushing harshly. I can feel my face growing even hotter when his eyes dart down to my lips as my tongue makes an appearance to swipe away the sugary crystals that stick to my lips.

He stares at me for a moment and I almost feel uncomfortable under his gaze, but I love the way he looks at me. I makes me feel alive, even if the way he watches me means nothing like how I mean it to him; makes me feel like I'm worth something. To Harry, I know I'm worth something. And I can't keep my eyes off of him when he places another gummy worm in his mouth and chews, but the moment is interrupted once again by Steph's voice, and I'm brought back into reality.

"You guys are so gross," she teases Harry and I with a humorous laugh. Harry chuckles then, too, just not as brightly. I follow in suit just because, but little do they both know that everything I do with Harry means so much more than it seems. So much that I can't describe the way it makes me feel.

I don't think there are enough words to express it, though.

***

I'm in Harry's room a couple of days later, staring at myself in the mirror mounted on his wall. I've always loved his room; love how cozy and personal it is, how everything from the posters that cover his wall to the random little knick knacks and stupid gadgets he likes to collect screams Harry Styles. I love how he's neat, but also a little messy at times, like now that we're running late. Some of his clothes are scattered across his bed, some falling onto the floor, but neither of us mind the slight clutter.

I don't have a shirt on yet, but I hold one in my hands while I study myself in the mirror. I make a mental note in my head to remember to do something with my hair, like trim it a bit or maybe re-dye it 'cause my roots are growing in again, but I don't know why I'm telling myself this because I know I'll probably never do it. I always seem to get too lazy to fix any of my problems. Besides, Harry tells me how he sort of likes the ingrown roots on me, how they make me look good, so maybe I sort of like them, too.

I'm just about to slip my shirt on when the sight of Harry catches my eye. Not that I'm not used to this happening a lot, but this time I seem more distracted than I usually am around him. I look back at him through the mirror right in front of me. I watch as Harry's fingers clutch the bottom of the black shirt placed over his back, and begin to pull it over his head, the fabric getting tangled in his long, floppy hair before it's completely off.

He's so beautiful, I swear he is. He glistens in the light shining through his window, kissing his tanned skin. His muscles aren't that extreme, but they're nice and relaxed and they flex as he crouches down to pick up his other shirt. They contract and expand as he moves and it's an interesting sight to see, really. I continue to admire his body, and I have to fight the urge rising inside of me to stalk over to him and run my hands across the contours of his body. I really wish I could.

I study his tattoos, and they're kind of stupid and random and none of them make any sense to me, but that's why they're so perfect for Harry―I may not understand any of them, but I still find them beautiful anyway.

I look away, then, before I get too ahead of myself. I could go on all night about everything about Harry I find perfect, but it'd probably be much longer than a night. I set my shirt down on top of his dresser, my hands flying up to fix my hair but also keep myself busy.

This is exactly what Harry does to me.

Harry spins around then, and when he does, our eyes meet in the mirror. My face turns a slight pink, but it's nothing too bad. Harry looks amazing in his new shirt, and I wish I could hold him; touch him, hug him, anything. His eyes never leave mine and it's like he wants to say something but he can't. So he doesn't. His lips curve into one of those shy smiles Harry rarely can be seen with, but that only makes me want him more.

I notice his dimples coming out to play again as he smiles at me, and I can't help it when my lips start to curve up, too. That much is inevitable, though―Harry makes me so happy. All it takes is one look.

***

It's a bit hot outside, so hot that it feels as though my skin is melting off as I lay underneath the sun, but I don't mind because it gives me an excuse to see Harry today. He invited me over to come swimming at his house, and of course I oblige―when would I not? I'll do anything if it means I'll be right next to him.

We're in the pool and Harry looks so bright, so beautiful and happy. Water droplets fall down the sides of his face and his hair is soaking and wet―I laugh because he looks just like baby Tarzan. His smile is off the chart; it's so big and wide that I can't help my smile when I'm around him like this. I think it's contagious.

Steph is here, too, of course, but I pay her no mind. It feels as though Harry and I are the only two in the world right now; it's just me and him. And as jealous as I am of her, I don't let it get to me today. I'm happy, I feel like I can touch the sky, so I'm going to enjoy this moment until I can't anymore. Steph sits in a lawn chair to the side, laying out and letting her skin absorb the heat of the sunlight. She doesn't seem to mind Harry and I, so I don't mind her either.

Harry's always a bit of a goofball when in around him―he's just so full of energy that I always find myself wondering how he does it. It must be nice. He tries to dunk me under the clear water a few times, but I don't let him. It's fun to watch him try, though. I laugh at his failed attempts and when I do it's as if the sound boosts Harry's energy, and I can't help but feel proud that I can make him do that. Harry makes me feel like I'm worth something.

I splash him with water and I duck my head lower into the pool to fill my mouth up with water. His eyes are glistening, tiny water droplets stick to the ends of his eyelashes, and he looks nice. But when doe he ever not? I suck my cheeks in and I swim over until I'm right in front of him, shooting the water out of my mouth and into his face.

Harry's laugh makes my heart stir and my limbs feel like mush, and my body feels like it's on fire when he captures me in his arms like they're a cage and I'm locked in. I wouldn't mind if he never let me go at all. He ties to throw me underwater again, and this time, as much as I struggle to get away, he succeeds. After a huge splash, I'm launched underwater and I can't help the cheesy grin that's plastered on my face. I think it's here to stay.

When I pop back up to the surface, I notice how Steph is now in the pool, her legs wrapped around Harry's waist and those stupid, yellow shorts he always wears. I claim to hate them, but deep down I'd be sad if he ever got rid of them. Her arms are locked loosely around his neck, and Harry looks just as happy as he was with me than he is with her, if not happier. It makes something inside me feel weird, like my insides are twisting into a million knots, but I can't let them get to me.

Steph is Harry's girlfriend and there's nothing I can do about that.

And it hurts watching Harry turn his head so that he can place a kiss to Steph's cheek, and it hurts even more when she attaches her lips to the base of his neck while he swims around with her still clutching onto his body. I feel like such a third wheel, like I'm the odd one out of the group. I guess Harry senses how I feel because he looks at me then with a warm, welcoming smile as if he's reassuring me, like he's letting me know that everything is okay. He makes me feel so okay.

Steph notices the interaction between the two of us and she sends me a look that I can't really pinpoint, but I know it's not meant to be a friendly one. She glares at me with those brown eyes of hers, but her lips are smug and taunting as she holds onto Harry a bit tighter that before. I can't help but feel as though she's trying to make me jealous. She doesn't have to try, though. I already am.

And I watch as the couple plays around, watch as they hold onto each other and they kiss each other's skin and they look like they're in love, and it hurts, but I think I'll be okay. I smile anyway because at least I still get to witness Harry smile no matter what.

***

Steph has gone home by now, and after a long, touring minute I had to endure of watching them kiss each other goodbye, I'm back to bouncing off the walls again with joy because I've got Harry all to myself and I couldn't be less content with anything more.

We've both showered by then, and now we're sitting on the floor in his bathroom side by side, our knees knocked together and our arms brushing against the other. My body feels like it's on fire when he's this close to me, and I just hope he doesn't notice.

He's so effortlessly breathtaking; everything about him is beauty. The softness of his face, the dimples that indent his cheeks, his long, curly hair that cascades over his shoulders. He such a calming sight to see, he makes me feel relaxed and serene. He's like a steaming cup of earl grey tea o a Sunday morning, like wind chimes humming in the wind. He's everything, he's life itself in the palm of my hands, but I just wish he knew that. I wish I could tell him how I feel right down to the very last detail.

We don't say anything to each other, and it's nice. I'm so comfortable around Harry that we could be doing absolutely anything and I wouldn't mind at all. I admire him in a way, and I hope he can see that when he looks into my eyes like he's doing now.

I see something swimming in his irises, and I don't want to get my hopes up at all, but I feel like there's something more behind the way he looks at me. It makes me feel something, makes my insides tingle, makes my skin tickle like fingers dancing across my sides. We look at each other, but I know I feel something more than whatever it is that he may feel for me.

I don't know what makes me do it, then, but I can't help when my hands raises towards his body and I let my fingers skim over the ink that grazes his arm. I feel his breath bitch a little, but it's so silent that I can't tell if it was real or not. I look at him again, my eyes darting down to his pink lips. I feel so electric when his tongue darts out to wet the surface of his lips. I want to kiss him, I wish I could, but I know I can't.

My fingers continue to trace his tattoos, following the shape that they make softly, airy like I'm barely touching him at all. I can see the goosebumps rising slowly on his body and I smile to myself because I feel like I've accomplished something.

"Your tattoos are so stupid, you know that?" I joke, and he knows that it's all in good fun. His lips curve up into a nice smile and I feel like I'm in love. I think I am.

"But you love them," he speaks for me. I know I do.

"I do," I mutter softly, stopping the motion of my fingers and looking back up at him again.  _I love everything about you_ ―I hope he can see that in my eyes.

_***_

"Niall, tie my hair up, will you?" Harry pouts, fluttering his eyelashes at me to help influence my answer. I already know my answer, though. He doesn't even have to ask. "Please?"

I smirk at him while I shake my head from side to side, trying to hold in my laughter. "Nah," I tell him. I'm probably such a bad liar.

" _Ni, please_ ," he whines, and it's actually really pathetic how fast I give into him. I can't take those doe eyes and that stupid, little pout of his. He's so cute that it hurts my soul to the core.

He grabs my hand then as he continues to plead, and I can't help but love how his hand feels wrapped around mine. I wish we could do this forever. I don't think I'd ever grow tired of it. "Pretty please," he goes on, and I huff out loud in mock annoyance because if this doesn't prove that I'll do anything he asks, I'm not sure what would.

He smiles so brightly as I make my way in front of him, sitting down so that we're face to face, knees pressed together. I shake my head because he's an idiot but I love him. I love him a lot.

I'm hesitant to get started as I reach forward to touch his hair, but then Harry leans towards as if he's encouraging me to go on, and I dive right into it because it's Harry and of course I do. His hair is soft and silky underneath my fingertips as I brush his hair away from his forehead. He sighs out in content, closing his eyes gently―I know he's a sucker for when people play with his hair. I run my fingers through his roots and our faces our so close to each other's, but I don't pull back. I'm going to enjoy this moment as much as I can before it's gone.

I can feel his fingers tracing my knee, tickling the surface as he does so, and I try to keep calm but it's quite hard to when there's a fire raging in my heart. I message his scalp a bit, and this time he hums loud enough for me to hear. The noise sends shivers through my spine. I remove my hands from his head and immediately his eyes fly right open when I do. His green eyes meet my blue gaze and he looks like he's caught in a daze. It makes him look a little caught off guard but still pretty I'm a way, nonetheless. I think he's gorgeous.

My eyes flicker down to the black hair tie slipped around his wrist, so I go to pull it off, my eyes finding their place locked with his once again. I give him a barely there smile before I gather his hair all together. I have no clue what the hell I'm doing, but it doesn't seem like Harry minds. And I wrap his hair up into a messy pile, securing the elastic band around it when I'm done. It looks stupid and it's wobbly and looks like a complete mess, but he somehow still makes it work. It's not exactly fair.

And Harry's hair smells just like the ocean―salty and fresh and natural and pure, and it's making my head spin. I lean back so that I'm not as close to him as I previously was. We're still close, though, so I don't complain. I notice that his thumb is still sweeping across the scar on my knee, but I pretend that I don't because I don't want him to stop. There's that look in his eyes again, and I still can't be sure of what it is, but it still makes my heart beat erratically in my chest.

He makes me feel crazy, insane in the nicest way possible. And when he looks at me like this how he is now, I think that maybe I am. Just a little bit.  _Maybe I'm crazy for you_.

***

I'm not that big of a fan of parties, but when Harry tells me he's having one, I suddenly feels as though they're my favorite thing in the world.

It's not a real party, per say, more so of a small get together for a few of Harry's friends. I don't mind, though. The less people the closer I can be to Harry I feel.

And I'm happy because Harry sticks right by my side the whole time, and I feel like I'm on fire. It's like he's connected to me in a way, like invisible shackles are locked around his ankles keeping him chained to me and only me. It's nice, I feel like this is the closest we've been this whole summer. I'm happy, and I know that Harry is, too.

We've both got beers in our hands, laughing at whatever silly things we say even if it's no where remotely close to being funny. I love the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he laughs, love the way he glistens and glows all because of me. It's like I'm the only person Harry sees, too. His eyes never leave mine and we're so close as we lie next to each other on his sofa, surrounded my clouds of smoke and the music that pumps through our veins and the cheers and loud chatter of everyone else around us. All I see is Harry and all I hear is Harry and all I think about is how fucking beautiful he is. I know we're both a bit buzzed off the few beers we've drank already, but there's a warm feeling settling deep in my stomach, and I can't tell if it's from the alcohol or just simply being with Harry. I think it's a mixture of both.

We're smiling at absolutely nothing, giggling at any and everything, and I feel as though I'm going to burst wide open with happiness. I feel like a piñata being split open, but instead of candy falling out it's love and warmth and pure adoration. I don't think anything else could feel better than this.

My fantasies are pushed to the side when I notice Harry's girlfriend coming into view from the corner of my eye. I knew she'd been here the whole time, but I couldn't help but forget since Harry had been with me this entire time. I guess not all good things last as long as you'd like them to.

She sends me that look again, the one she gave me in the pool that one day, and I advert my vision somewhere else because I don't like how uneasy it makes me feel. But she quickly changed her expression, smiling brightly and fake when Harry catches her eye. He doesn't look too excited to see here, and I can't help but feel giddy at the thought.

"Hey, babe," she coos at him―I want to fucking puke. Harry gives her a smile, but it's nothing compared to the smile he gave me the entire time we've been together today. It gives me the hope I know shouldn't have but do anyway.

"Hey, Steph," he greets her back, but his eyes are on me while the words tumble out of his mouth. I hope he doesn't notice how I shiver.

Steph looks annoyed, rolling her eyes disgustedly. "Dance with me," she tells Harry, but she doesn't wait for an answer from him before she's pulling him off of the sofa and wrapping her arms around his neck I'm a movement that should look swift and smooth but comes off a bit tough and needy instead. 

Her mood had been slightly off lately, and I can't help but feel that I'm to blame.

She sways her body against Harry's seductively and I have to turn away because I just can't take it. I take a sip of the beer in my hand to calm me down.

When I risk a quick peak at them again, I notice how uninterested Harry seems, his face twisted up and his eyebrows furrowed as he removes Steph's hands from around him and pulls away. I watch as he shakes his head, Steph looking pissed and annoyed, and he mouths, "not now," before stepping away and taking his place right next to me again.

Steph looks a bit humiliated and I feel a little bad for her as she stomps away, but would it be bad if I said I didn't really care? I look around and see that no one seems interested at all, so I feel a bit better. The air is awkward and tense now, though, but Harry smiles at me anyway so I know it's okay.

We sit in silence for the rest of the time, making little conversation here and there, but for the most part there's nothing else. I know Harry feels a bit off since what happened with Steph, and I just hope he's okay. That's all I want for him anyway. I know it's all I need.

***

I walk through the hallways of Harry's house alone, admiring the home that he lives in. The party has been over for a while and I know that Harry's still here somewhere along with Steph. I know there's some kind of unspoken tension between the two, but I hope they work it out soon. I know I'd like to be in Steph's place, but I also want Harry to be happy. And if that means sacrificing something I'll probably never have, then so be it. I just want to see him smile.

I'm not sure where Harry is exactly since o left him to go to the bathroom. I stroll down the hallways, my fingers brushing along the walls the whole times. I poke my head into his bedroom but find that he isn't there. I continue down until I reach the end of the hall and end up in the living room where the party had been just a few hours before. The smell of smoke and alcohol still roams the air, but it doesn't bother me at all.

I notice Steph asleep on on of the arm chairs, and I tip toe around her when I see Harry sitting outside with his feet dangling in the pool. I go straight for the sliding doors, opening it until I'm stepping outside where Harry is. I can't see his face since his back is turned to me, but his shoulders are slumped low and I can't help but feel like they're that way for a reason.

I make my way over to him, sitting down right beside him, our thighs touching when I do. I look at him and he looks sad, his eyes low and his lips pulled together in a straight line. My heart breaks at the sight of him―all I want is for him to be okay.

I don't say anything, though, simply because o don't know what to say. I stare at the side of my face, keeping my expression hopeful and calm so that he knows I'm here for him. I'll always be right here. He looks at me then, and I can see the sadness in his eyes, that wetness that at the brim of his eyes. He doesn't say anything either and I don't push him; I let him take his time.

When Harry leans over to rest his hand against my shoulder, my heart rate picks up, but at the same time I feel safe. Everything feels right, even if it may be wrong. I can feel myself tense up a bit, but I like the way he feels against me―so soft and warm underneath the sunlight. 

I don't realize how long Harry and o stay like this, with his cheeks pressed against my shoulder, but eventually he pulls away and I feel cold despite sitting in the summer heat. I already miss his touch.

He looks into my eyes, then, and for the first time, I think I know for sure what's swimming in his eyes. They sparkle with the unshed tears he hasn't cried yet, and they glisten like a million previous diamonds, and I think I know. His gaze is so strong, so intense, that I can feel whatever he's feeling like it's radiating from his body like heat waves. I feel it, feel it deep down inside me and it makes my heart swell so much that I can feel it about to burst in my chest. I don't think I'd mind if it did.

I don't notice that he's beginning to lean in to me, but I follow right along because I'll take whatever chance I can get if it means that what I've been dreaming about for so long will finally come true. And Harry continues to lean in closer to me, so close that I can see the flecks of darker green in his eyes, can pinpoint every blemish, every freckle, every aspect of his face. I didn't think he could get any more beautiful than he already is.

He's so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his breath hitting my mouth, our lips so close that if I were to move just an inch closer they'd be touching and we'd be kissing and everything would fall right into place. But that never happens, they never touch, and before I can realize what's going on, I feel fingers slipping into the roots of my hair and pulling me back with a harsh yank until I'm thrown to the side and tugged away from Harry.

There's a loud shriek that makes my ears hurt as I feel myself being knocked into something hard, and when I look to the side I see a trace of blood smeared on a rock just beside my head. I can feel my head throbbing, can hear yelling behind me, too, but I don't move from where I lay. I taste a bit of blood pooling in my mouth, and when I swipe my tongue across my lower lip, I feel a little sting do I know there's a cut that graces my skin. I wince as I bring a hand up to touch my forehead and when I pull it away, the color red taints my fingertips. I groan a little, looking to the side see Steph in Harry's face, screaming at the top of her lungs while a few tears stream down my face.

I don't know why, but something inside of me goes off; I don't like to see Harry sad like this. It hurts me in ways I'll never be able to explain to see him cry.

"Are you kidding me?!" I hear Steph yelling, her voice even higher when she's angry. It makes my ears want to burst. I stop paying much attention then, but I can still hear her screaming and I hate it. "I'm your girlfriend!" I catch her say, followed by, "look at me when I'm talking to you, Harry!" and "why him?!" And I can't take it anymore. I can't.

I don't care that my head is all bloody and I don't care if it hurts; I don't care about anything but Harry and that's all I'll ever care about until he doesn't want me to care about him anymore. I forget about everything around me as I sit up and pull myself off of the ground. I don't think about anything when I make my way towards Steph and push her aside with enough force that she's tumbling back a little. I don't think about anything and before I know it I'm yelling. I'm yelling and I'm screaming so loud at the top of my lungs until my throat feels sore, but I don't care.

I think about Harry the whole time―I think about all the good memories we've shared, all the laughs the private smiles the gentle touches between us two. I think about us and I think about how much I care about him; I think about all of my feelings for him, ones I'm too afraid to say and keep hidden inside, ones that I'd tell him about in a heartbeat if I ever got the chance. And I think about everything between us until I can't think about anything else, and I thinks this is ultimately what fuels the fire in my heart, the rage that's been burning inside from the start.

Maybe Harry really does make me crazy. I can't say that I mind.

And I'm so angry that I can't even hear what I'm saying at all, but I don't stop. I don't stop until I feel a hand curling around mine and pulling me away. Harry pulls me towards him until we're face to face again. He looks into my eyes deeply, like there's something in then that he needs and won't turn away. There's still a trace of his tears left behind, and it kills me to see him this way, but I feel like in on overdrive when he's touching me like this.

He looks at my face, bloody from the fall I took, and he looks worried. I don't want him to, though. I'll be fine. I can see more tears pooling in his eyes, but I shake my head, silently telling him to stop because I can't take seeing him this way anymore.

"I'm so sorry," he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. He brings a hand up to hold my cheek, his thumb caressing my skin. I know I'm all bloody, and I know that Harry probably has some of his blood on my hands, but I can't dwell on that right now. My heart stops in the middle of my chest, and I feel as though I could die right here, right now, but I'd miss out on too much if I did.

He caresses my face and he brushed his thumb against my bruised lower lip. My breathing picks up when leans a little closer until his forehead knocks into mine gracefully. "I'm so sorry, Ni," he whispers against my skin once more, but I don't care. I don't care if I'm hurt, I don't care about anything in this world but him. His face is so close to mine that when he looks at me I can feel my eyes crossing slightly, but he's still a sight to see nonetheless. He says will be no matter what.

He grips my face with both of his hands a little tighter, his breathing heavy but so is mine, and before I know it he's closing the small gap between us and his lips are on mine.

His lips are on mine and he kisses me like it's the last time heel ever be able to kiss again. I feel so hot, like I'm dancing on a pit of fire, but I feel good. Our mouths push against one another's, and it's needy and desperate and wild, but it's bold and it's electric like lightning in the middle of a storm, and it's everything I wanted but never knew I needed until now.

And my hands are on his face and tangling themselves into his hair, and his are on my hips now, gripping me tight and pulling me closer as if he wants us to be one. I already feel like we are. The little grunts he makes at the back of his throat send me into a frenzy, and. And I can't believe this is really happening. I can't believe I've finally gotten what I've wanted for so long.

And now that I do, I'm going to keep it safe with me forever and I'm never going to let it go.

Harry pulls away then and my lips feel lonely, but he wraps his arms around my torso and he hugs me tight. He hugs me and I feel his lips pressing themselves against my neck, hot and wet, but it feels like bliss. And I'm not sure if Steph is still here, and I'm not sure if she's witnessed any of this, but I don't care. All I feel is Harry, all I can hear is Harry, and all I can think about is Harry and that maybe I might just be in love.

***

My face is bruised and bloody―purple at the corner of my eye, my lips tainted with the blood that inks my skin. It tastes like salt and rust, dirty and gross, but I can't care. I cruise down the street with a smile on my face and the wind blowing in my hair and my feet planted on the pedals of my bike, and I'm happy. I'm so happy―everything is right in the world.

And my smile grows even wider when I think about it, when I think about his lips on mine―I feel so free. I've got the boy I've always wanted, and he has me, too, and now I definitely know that I'm in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this felt a bit rushed and messy; I really hate writing in first person. I haven't uploaded anything in such a long time, and I've missed it a lot, honestly. I have so many stories I've started but can't seem to complete, so I'm really surprised that this only took me a day and a half to complete. Anyway, I hope this was enjoyable. Feedback is always welcome :) Hopefully I can upload some more of my works soon.
> 
> check out my wattpad (@ yrraniaz) if you'd like to read some of my chaptered narry stories!


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